Fragmented Promises
by AnyOtherWay
Summary: Chuck and Blair. Blair is bulimic and is emotionally unstable. This is the story of how her Dark Knight rescued her, helped her to recover and won her heart. Chair fluff, but rated T for some dark themes.  Re-upload


I.

Chuck Bass.

I wouldn't be who I am today without that man. I love him more than I thought my heart was capable of. He helped me pull through and battle my demons. He bought light to the darkness most people didn't know surrounded me.

He saved me.

II.

November 2007

Thanksgiving. And he found me on my knees. Retching the pain away.

"Blair," he half-yelled, eyes wide with fear.

"Don't do this to yourself."

He slid down on the floor next to me, wrapped his arms around me. I cried silent tears.

"I'm sorry", I said in a small voice, clutching his shirt. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't say anything; just rubbed my back in soothing circles.

"Blair," he finally sighed, "Why?"

"I'm just… broken." Teardrops cascaded down my cheeks.

He brushed them away.

"Then… let me fix you. I'll make it go away Blair, I promise." He gazed at me intently, holding out his pinky.

I breathed slowly. Trying to calm down. But the rush of emotions in head messed too badly with my mind.

"I'm… I'm sorry Chuck…" I pushed him out and locked the door. My body heaved with shattered sobs.

On the other side of the door, I could feel him.

"Blair," his voice sounded strangled, "Please let me in."

I was mute.

"Fine Blair, you win. You can throw up all you like. See if I care."

I wrenched the door open. Suddenly.

It shocked him.

"You think I _like_ doing this Chuck?" Tears welled up in my eyes, but I continued.

"You think that it's because of attention? That I want to see if people _care?_ Because if you do, it just proves that you know nothing about my life Chuck Bass."

I was fuming, but I continued my meaningless rant.

"Yes my mother is a fashion designer. Yes I have a personal maid. Yes I have a best friend, an amazing boyfriend and a huge family that cares. But guess what. We all fight. My parents hate each other. I'm barely acknowledged. At school I'm worshipped. I have minions. But at home it's like my life is turned upside down. Gossip Girl is right. I'm weak. I hate this. I don't want any of this. I… I…"

Livid. I was livid. Deranged. Confused even.

He took a step towards me and engulfed me in a hug.

I broke down.

I completely broke down.

He went backwards until he was sitting on my bed, then pulled me onto his lap and just held me.

"Shhhh," I remember him saying amidst the chaos, "It's going to be okay Blair, I'm here now. It's going to be okay."

Sometime later, after my sobbing moment had subsided, I lifted my head and offered him my pinky.

He smiled, in spite of himself and interlocked his with mine. "I promise Blair, he told me reverently, I will get you better if it's the last thing I do."

"You and me," he declared, "We're going to fight the world."

He kissed my forehead.

I was a mess. But I was Blair Waldorf. He was Chuck Bass. It was all going to be okay. He promised

III

December 2007

Christmas Eve and I was wearing the most splendid Oscar de la Renta silk evening gown in a limo, on the way to Chuck's annual festive party.

Serena had gone to Monte Carlo with her family, and Nate had left for the Hamptons with his.

I checked my reflection in my compact and froze.

Porcelain powdered skin, cheekbones created with blush, perfectly mascaraed lashes, precisely plucked eyebrows, lips meticulously lined and coated with peach lipstick.

But fat.

Fat everywhere.

Bulging beneath my chin.

Swelling out of my cheeks.

Protruding from my stomach.

Wobbling in my legs.

Fat.

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't let everyone see.

I couldn't let everyone stare.

The limo came to a halt just outside the Empire. I couldn't. But I had to. I had to see him.

I sucked in everything I could and tentatively walked out. That's when I remembered that I'm Blair Waldorf, and I'm not tentative about anything.

He was standing in the shadows; drink in his hand like always. Wearing a sharp grey suit, crisp white shirt and a silk peach bow-tie.

I smiled inwardly. Without intending to, we always seem to match.

That or he really did have a surveillance team monitoring my every move.

He smiled when he saw me approach. Kissed my cheek and gestured for me to dance with him. I laughed genuinely for the first time in awhile.

We swayed to Mariah Carey, grinded our hips to Beyoncé, twirled around during Band Aid. In a room of at least a hundred people, I was only aware of him. We moved in cohesion, following the heartbeat of the music.

I sipped on a cocktail, a little breathless. Chuck sauntered back carrying a bowl of ice cream.

"You got moves Waldorf," he smirked, devouring a spoon of ice cream.

I laughed, "I know Bass. And you will never be able to beat me."

With laughing eyes, and another spoonful of ice cream, he told me to open my mouth. I did, but just when it was about to reach my lips, he whipped it away and scoffed it down.

Chuck!" I pouted.

He teasingly stuck his tongue out, just as the music changed. A slow, soft song. On hearing this, Chuck took hold of my waist, and proceeded to the dance floor once more.

My hands brushing his shoulders, his around my waist, my head on his chest, our eyes closed, he whispered in my ear that I looked beautiful tonight. Tears suddenly welled in my eyes, but I pushed them away.

They were just words.

Nearing midnight, almost all the party guest had disappeared and I too prepared to leave.

"Let me walk you out," he said, entwining his hand through mine.

Holding hands with Chuck Bass felt as natural as breathing air. I needed him like I needed oxygen.

In the hallway, he stopped to help me into my coat. Looked up and smiled in disbelief.

"Mistletoe," he smirked.

"Mistletoe," I repeated, "Its just decoration…"

"It is," he agreed.

Awkward silence then,

"But Waldorf…" he quipped, "We don't want to break tradition do we?"

"No," I said quickly, "Isn't it supposedly good luck?"

"And good fortune," he half-smiled.

"I have a boyfriend," I stated, suddenly remembering Nate.

"I know," he counters, "It's just a Christmas kiss, it won't mean anything."

But then he stares at me. And I back at him.

The atmosphere was electric, but it felt right. Just as his arm slowly snaked across my waist. Just as I, without quite meaning to, tiptoed, despite wearing Louboutins.

I closed my eyes, and just like that, his lips were on mine. Gentle and lingering.

But short.

And sweet.

Our first kiss.

IV

March 2008

I opened my bleary eyes to blinding light. Frantic voices. And beeping.

Lot's of beeping.

This wasn't home.

"Miss Waldorf, you're up", a brisk voice greeted me. I turned to see a nurse, clad in uniform.

"What happened?" I asked, trying to recall why I was in hospital. Then suddenly, the events all came rushing back to me.

The tears.

The heartbreak.

The shouting. The screaming.

Storming up to my bedroom.

Slamming the door.

Crying.

Opening a box of pills.

Swallowing.

Again and again and again.

Heaving everything I had into the toilet.

Purging and purging until I had nothing left. Until my insides felt shrivelled and starved.

Grabbing the sharpest thing I could find.

Slashing.

Again and again and again.

Seeing red. So much red.

The room spinning. Black dots.

Giving in to the darkness, where at last, I felt home.

"You were comatose for almost six days Miss Waldorf," the nurse said, checking her notes, and my eyes drifted to her shoes. They didn't match.

Your friends and family are terribly distraught. They haven't been allowed in too much on account of all the…" she gestured, "Machinery…"

And when I looked there was quite a bit of equipment. My arms were fully bandaged, there was a drip coming from a cannula in my hand to a stand, from which a bag filled with clear liquid was hanging; my chest was covered in little plastic circles with wires coming off them and linking to a monitor that beeped and displayed a graph with spiky lines, my face felt as though it was covered in duct tape, I sensed a tube going up my nose.

And flowers… So many flowers... Roses, lilies, violets, orchids, peonies.

"Would you like me to call your visitors in Miss Waldorf?" the nurse prompted

My thoughts drifted to all the people who must be waiting for me. Mom, Dad, Serena, Lily, Nate, Chuck, Dorota, maybe even Humphrey.

"Yes," I heard myself saying, "Please send them in."

A mirror was not even in sight, so I had no idea what state I was in. But if the people who were waiting really cared for me, then they shouldn't mind what I looked like.

Their rushing footsteps echoed in the surrounding hallways.

Mom and Dad walked in first; stood either side of my bed. My mom stroked my hair gently, in a maternal manner she never had when I was a little girl. It reminded me of my lost childhood.

My dad simply touched my cheek.

Serena was tearful; she stood next to my mother and took my hand.

Nate stayed by Serena, offering me a half-smile with apologetic words.

Lily was at the foot of my bed, she looked sad, but she too patted my leg with a maternal understanding.

Next to her was Chuck. I smiled weakly at his immaculate appearance, despite the dishevelled hair and tired looking eyes.

In this intimate moment, surrounded by my loved ones, I couldn't help but reflect that maybe what I had failed in doing was for the better. If I had gone, then I would never have known how cherished I truly was.

I woke up again. This time, the room was pitch black.

My throat felt like sandpaper, and I struggled, with my bandaged arms, to reach the glass of water on my bedside table.

In the darkness, I knocked over something that toppled onto the floor with a crash.

A person in the armchair jolted awake.

I wasn't alone.

"Chuck?" I whispered, as he quickly turned the lights on.

"What do you need Blair?"

"Water… Please."

He poured me a glass, and then helped me sit up. Gingerly, he bought the glass to my lips and helped me to gulp it down.

"Thanks Bass," I smiled.

"Anytime."

I glace at his watch as he sits back in the armchair next to my bed, 2:53AM. Gently sandwiches my hand with both of his.

His smile vanished and was replaced with anxiety. "Blair, I was so worried. We all were. I thought you were… gone."

"I just…" I licked my dry, parched lips, "I just wanted to get away from everything."

Chuck closed his eyes, pondering upon what I had just said.

"Nate broke up with me. So obviously I was upset. But I came home and nobody listens, my mother was too busy telling a model she was too fat."

I closed my eyes,

"Then Daddy came home and they start shouting. At each other. At me. I just couldn't bear it anymore. It comes to that every time."

I open my eyes to find him staring at me, wide-eyes. Transfixed.

"I couldn't deal with it anymore Chuck, I wanted it to go away."

He ran his hand through his hair, the other still clasping my hand.

"I was supposed to fix you Blair, remember? Our promise."

He smiled bitterly, "I was supposed to make it all go away. It's just gotten a lot worse."

I bit my lip, "I'm sorry Chuck," I said in a small voice, "I'm really really sorry."

"It's okay Waldorf. I'm not going to break our promise. I will get you better. I don't think I'll be able to survive without our bickering," his voice had a wryness to it, "Plus, I don't think we got to dance to J. Lo."

I laughed, mid-yawn.

"You should rest," he murmured, touching my face.

"But I've just slept for six…" yawn… "days."

"And I've stayed awake for the better part of six days."

I blushed.

"We should both rest, I'll send word to the others that you're well, and I'll come and see you tomorrow." He checked his watch, "or today in about eight hours."

He rose to his feet and bent over to kiss my forehead.

"You're a mess Blair Waldorf. A beautiful mess."

V

April 2008:

Central park was bustling with life. Tourist clicking cameras. Jaded New Yorkers enjoying a midday run. Mothers pushing wailing babies. Mischevious toddlers running towards the balloon stand. Teenagers impressing one another with dangerous skateboard stunts. Kids buying hot dogs and popcorn. Couples throwing bread pieces to the ducks in the enormous pond. Fashionable women sitting under the shade of a tree sipping on a skinny cappuccino, mobile permanently stuck to one ear. Businessmen striding into cafes, briefcase in hand.

And then there was us.

Me, dressed in long, plum, form-fitting Stella McCartney knitwear with black tights and chocolate heeled boots. Chuck dressed down, slightly, in navy trousers (matching jacket left in the limo) and a light blue shirt, plum tie, navy sweater. Tan shoes. Hair rumpled.

His fingers were weaved through mine. We strolled around the park just like any other couple.

"So how is Serena?" I ask, longing rooted deep inside me to see her again.

"Same as ever. She urm, dumped Nate and is seeing Humphrey at the moment," Chuck glances at me. I know he's looking for my expression, which has betrayed my body and turned into repulse and disgust.

He laughs.

"Dan Humphrey? Brooklyn boy?"

"The very one. Quite the item."

Now it's my turn to laugh.

"Please, the only time she was ever an item was with Nate."

"I know she misses you B," he said more softly. Ignoring my last comment and subtly dropping in the nickname Serena calls me.

I sighed and continued walking. Often pining after the horse-drawn carriages.

"So, how are you?" Chuck asked tenderly.

I had only been released from the hospital two weeks ago, and the people that stayed by my bedside night and day had soon immersed themselves into the whirlpool of their everyday life as soon as they heard that I was starting to recover.

"Better," I forced a smile.

He looked at me, saw right through my facade.

"Blair," he starts.

"I told you I'm better Chuck. What else do you want me to say? That I feel like a moron because of the way they talked to me? Deranged because I have to see a shrink? Regret because maybe I wanted to die?"

Shock flashed through his eyes. Met mine.

"I just want you to tell me the truth. Because I-... I'm always going to be here for you. Whether you like it or not."

"Oh gosh. You." I retort. But jokingly.

He laughed half-heartedly, and then stopped when he sees the tears escalating down my face. I wipe them away and laugh.

"I'm okay Chuck. I'll be fine."

He turns towards me and takes both my hands in his. Lifts them up, and kisses the very tips of my fingers, lets them go. In that one action he expressed more than words ever could.

Wrapped his arm around me and says, "so how about that carriage ride?"

I giggle; High-pitched chimes of mirth. He joins in, snorts at first (which makes me chortle even more) then launches into deep unrestrained laughter, almost echoing in the lively atmosphere.

I don't know how long we stood there, clutching each other filled with uncontrollable laughter. But I do know that in that instant, there was a harmony of jovial happiness.

He helped me up the steps to the carriage, and once we had both settled down, Chuck enveloped me in a hug.

I inhaled and smelt the tantalising heady scent of his cologne. It wasn't overpowering or sickening. It was perfect.

Even as he moved away, he still kept one arm around me.

"I've always wanted to go on one of these," I admitted, snuggling into chest.

He smirks, "I know."

I made to whack him with a fist, but he caught it and started tickling me.

"Chuck!" I shriek helplessly, "Stop!"

"Never!"

"Stop! Chuck! Stop! STOP!" I scream in delight.

I start hitting him, as he tried to cover my blows and chuckles at my attempts.

Then somehow or another, he managed to pin my arms down, and we're both breathless but exhilarated, intently looking into emulated orbs. And we're both leaning in, eyes half-closed.

Our lips meet and fireworks. Again and again and again.

And I'm so close to him, I'm almost on his lap. Kissing frantically, but slowly. Longingly. Feeling as though I'm finally close to mending.

And even though I'm nothing but skin and bone, he's holding me like I'm the most delicate and beautiful person in the world.

VI

May 2008

Purging sounds horrific to most people. But to me, it was comfort. My guilty pleasure…

The only aspect of my life I could rally the control that I'd been yearning for.

They say that any form of an eating disorder is a lifelong disease. Bulimia is especially dangerous because the puking causes gastrointestinal problems and serious potassium depletion.

Essentially, the body is left surviving on its own tissue. Eating itself.

They say that getting help is mandatory. Because maybe sometimes an eating disorder is linked to mental health. And maybe sometimes my mentality is afflicted.

They say that my stomach lining is close to rupturing due to acidic regurgitation.

They say that self-induced vomiting is a form of escapism.

They say that the abuse of laxatives is bordering on obsessive compulsive disorder.

They say that I am introverted. That I am a I need control.

They say that I may have an anxiety disorder.

They say that self-destructive behaviour is evidence for psychological disturbance.

They say that an attempt at suicide is a cry for help.

They say that they want to help me get stronger.

But I know that staying strong requires energy that I don't have. Fighting this takes everything I have.

They say that I need to avoid relapsing again.

It's hard.

VI

July 2008

Chuck was lounging next to me on my bed, warm sugary popcorn in a bowl between us. He had picked me up after my session with the therapist.

"I can't believe you've never watched this before Chuck," I remarked as I closed the DVD drive to my laptop having inserted a beloved copy of _Breakfast at Tiffany's._

"Well, I'm more of a Fight Club type myself. But for you, I'll do anything."

I roll my eyes at his exaggerated chivalry and hit him on the chest.

And although I have watched it more times than I could ever count, my heart aches each time.

"You know Blair," Chuck comments at the eminent beginning, when Holly Golightly stands outside Tiffany's eating a bagel. "You look an awful lot like her."

I whack him on the shoulder, "Shh you Basshole. I do not."

Secretly though, I was pleased.

When Holly curls up by the window and sings _Moon River, _I hum along with her.

Chuck laughs to himself when Holly and Paul (Fred) are in Tiffany's trying to buy something for $10.

"That's us Blair," he murmured into my hair, "We own New York. Except… I'm not that poor."

"This is a romantic moment," I hiss, "Not everyone is a boy billionaire."

He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, "But I am," he says suggestively.

"Urgh. You are pathetic and I hate you."

"Shh Waldorf, you're ruining the film."

I sigh in exasperation and immerse myself into Audrey's life once more.

Somehow, while watching the film, Chuck had swathed his arm around me, and I was relaxing, quite contently, with my head on his chest. I could smell his intoxicating scent, feel the warmth he radiated, hear his thudding heartbeat and tingle with every word he whispered.

It was the final scene when Paul (Fred) gets out of the cab and throws the ring at her. Every single time I watched this scene I couldn't help but let a tear trickle down my heartbroken face. This time was no exception.

I glanced up at Chuck, his expression also pained.

"Cat?Cat?CAT?" Holly yelled from the tiny screen.

"Cat", I mouthed silently with her.

When Holly runs to Fred and kisses him, Chuck lets out a satisfied sigh and pecks the top of my head.

"That's definitely us Blair. If we ever kiss in the rain," he winks.

I stare at Chuck, eyebrows raised, "And Cat is who exactly?"

"Our baby."

VII

September 2008

The idea of being beautiful had always been a fantasy. But I had never felt beautiful.

I had always been looked as the girl everyone aspired to be. Intellectual. Nathaniel Archibald's girlfriend. Innocent. Pure. But beautiful… No.

What everyone didn't know was that I had a notorious past. That became darker once probed into.

When Nate broke up with me, I felt free. Free to be the person that I truly was. I was no longer bound to be an image of the man (boy) I was with. I could become beautiful.

Everybody saw right through my pretence. Including Serena. Including my mother. Including Nate.

I bought the new seasons' fashions from Dior, Givenchy and Chanel. I bought silky underwear sets. I bought make-up from every make-up counter in Manhattan.

Hell, I needed to buy beauty.

It took me the better part of forty minutes each morning to do my make-up. Whether it be for school, a party, a benefit; I needed to wear make-up. I needed to cover up my past and transform myself into a beautiful, powerful woman.

Things were looking up.

I had been dismissed from therapy too. They said that I was making good progress. And I could always call them when I needed to.

I told them that I understood when a relapse feels like and I thanked them for the support that they gave me during a rough time.

But everybody lies.

VIII

November 2008:

The frozen tiled floor I sit on reflects me perfectly.

Susceptible to breaking. Glued together. And at the very core of it, frozen.

I cower by the bathtub, knees hugged to my chest, Dark brown limp hair covering my face.

A razor inches away.

I whimper, feeling the sting. Feeling the trickle down my arm.

Dropping onto the clinically white enamel tiles.

Pain.

In a twisted way it's only the feeling of agony that brings me solace.

.And now, slicing.

The calm after the storm.

sense of guilt.

I delve into my cardigan pocket and grab my phone.

Dial #1.

"Chuck?"

He will understand.

IX

November 2008

This was one of the rarest things we ever did. Eat breakfast together.

It felt like a glimpse out of a life that I never had. Sitting in a warm café around a circular table surrounded by friends, a woollen scarf hanging loose around my neck (Chuck's),stirring my cappuccino. Watching Chuck next to me, in the corner of my eye, emptying sachets upon sachets of sugar into his coffee.

Daniel Humphrey sat next to him. He had somehow found his way into our friendship circle, and there he was; seated - polystyrene cup of coffee in his hand, true Brooklyn style.

(I don't know what it was but I didn't mind him so much any more).

Nate sat next to him, poking at his croissant, mischievous grin on his face as Serena recounted a familiar story from when we were all younger and life was easier.

"And when we were six, Blair got her hands on a Sharpie," Serena giggled, me joining in now, "And she drew all twirly patterns on our arms and legs saying that now we could go to the Met masquerade party!"

I smile nostalgically. Trying to remember who I was back kind of girl who had ambition. The smile was wiped clean off of my face.A girl whose parents were not divorced. A girl whose Daddy read a fairytale to her every night before bed. A girl who did not have everything taken away from her.A girl who had passion for life

"B, what's wrong?" Serena seemed sad, "Was it something I said?"

"No," I muttered, "It's nothing S."

Everyone was staring at me. Suddenly it all seemed too much. The suffocating aroma, the chattering, the closeness of everyone.

I needed to get away.

Serena staring at me, sans make-up, and every inch of her was perfect. Even worry looked amazing on her.

I needed to get away.

Me, with my over inflated face and scarred body.

I needed to get away.

My mother telling me I needed to lose weight.

I needed to get away.

My size four dress not zipping up.

I needed to get away.

Feeling my hips bulge out of my jeans.

I needed to get away.

"You know S… I think I need a bit of fresh air. See you all later."

I got away.

X

December 2008

It certainly wasn't the first time. It probably won't have been the last time.

But something about the situation was different.

Chuck kneels next to me, holding my hair up as I puke the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl.

It's hard to stop. Especially when you want when you try not when there are tears in your eyes from retching so much.

I sink back down onto the cold, hard floor when it's over.

"Thank you," I whisper to Chuck, not looking at him. Ashamed.

He shuffles next to me, his warm embrace comforting.

"Blair," he murmured, his voice deep and pained at the same time, "It's okay not be strong all the time you know."

He kisses my hair, my forehead, my cheek.

"I have to be," I breathe. "I have to be…"

I had to be the Blair Waldorf that my minions look up to, I thought. I had to be someone worthy of a best friend like Serena. I had to be powerful. I had to rule the Upper East Side.

He runs his fingers through my locks, a gesture now synonymous with Chuck.

"Blair," he chides, You don't have to be anything. Just be yourself. "The Blair everybody loves."

"Everybody?" I probe, sliding my hand into his.

"Everybody," he promises, gently squeezing my fingers.

Chuck taught me that I didn't have to be somebody that I'm not. I needed to be somebody who I am. Somebody who someone someday could love.

I need somebody to love me.

Chuck took off his shoes, jacket, and tie, unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and then climbed under the duvet with me.

I laughed at his ridiculous attire. The sort of tired laugh, intoxicated with the need to sleep, when everything seems funny.

Instinctively, I snuggled into Chuck's chest. Breathing in his therapeutic scent, we cuddled up together. My fingers tracing the contours of his muscles under his shirt… One of Chuck's hands running soothingly through my hair. The other stroking circles on my back.

"Go to sleep Blair, tomorrow is another day."

"Please stay?" I asked, not wanting this moment to ever end.

"Of course. Anything for you." He kissed the corner of my eye.

With the hint of a smile, I closed my eyes; ready for anything with Chuck by my side.

Before I drifted away, I could have sworn I heard the barest whisper,

"I love you."

A/N So this is a re-upload but with punctuation. I read through it about eight times (as all great writers must do!) and thought that it would have even more potential if I added in the speech marks... In a twisted way, I really like this story and want to continue it further. Only a couple more chapters though. I'm working on some more little one-shots and one multi-fic. Writing is a form of therapy after all ;)! Please make my day and review. Oh and tell me what you think about 5x10. This is my face = :''''''''''''(

Take care my lovelies, xoxo


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